


Grown Human

by capcakes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capcakes/pseuds/capcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen Wolf as a romantic comedy without teens or wolves. It involves grown humans instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The summary says it all! I would like to add that most chapters will be written from Scott's point of view, with the exception of a couple of chapters which will be written from either Erica's or Danny's points of view.
> 
> Special thanks Alana, Bonnie, Emily and Gab who were so kind to pre-read this. And extra-extra-special thanks to Emily who is the best beta.

It’s three past four AM and the two of them are sitting side by side, their drowsy faces illuminated by the white light of the computer screen. The monitor displays a mostly white screen with a black window right in the middle. Scott lets out a loud yawn.

“Do you want coffee?” Stiles asks after a minute or so.

Scott tears his eyes off the screen to look at him. “It’s six past four, what do you think?” He’s so tired, he can’t even bring himself to smile.

“Got it…” Stiles gets on his feet, making a sound that could be the lovechild of a loud groan of frustration and a whimper of liberty. Scott hears him shuffle to the kitchen and can distinguish the noises of Stiles pouring coffee in two mugs. By the time he gets back it’s two minutes later and nothing on the screen has changed.

Scott mumbles a thank you for the coffee and starts sipping it. He feels like a zombie. Stiles freaking _looks_ like a zombie. “What time would she be on?” he asks when his cup is half full. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know, he’s just asking for the sake of asking something.

Stiles answers mechanically: “Four thirty, which is her five PM.” He pauses and then says: “do you think she’s skipping out on us?” And his eyes look all panicky, so Scott can’t help but want to assure Stiles that this particular fear won’t become reality.

“She wouldn’t do that!” Scott points to the screen. He’s feeling very vigorous all of a sudden.  “Alease Meg Maura does _not_ skip out on anyone, alright? She’s doing this, she said so herself. She put it in writing, even. She’s not bailing out on us, Stiles. You’ve got to keep believing.”

“What if her internet is dead?”

Scott takes another sip of coffee whilst shaking his head. His body is now turned towards Stiles instead of to the monitor. “She’s rich as hell; she probably has a back-up, um, connection. Or whatever. Alease Meg Maura does not suffer from crappy internet.” He brings his face closer to Stiles’ in order to demand his full attention. “Okay? No more questioning her or her integrity or her internet connection.”

The way they talk about Alease – one might think that she is one of their closest friends. One would be wrong. She is something much more than that: she is their favorite actress in the galaxy. And that makes her one of their favorite _people_ in the galaxy. They send her a nice, uplifting tweet every other two weeks and everything. Their relationship with Alease Meg Maura is comparable to that of two idiots saying nice things to a brick wall.

(With the exception that Alease Meg Maura is way too amazing to be a regular brick wall. She’d be a nicely graffitied wall, sporting an inspirational message like ‘Feed your cats!’ or ‘be kind to all, for the one you’re being unkind to could be a murderer!’)

Stiles looks like he wants to argue for a second, but eventually he sighs and slumps back in his chair. Scott considers this a small victory.

After this little exchange, they’re silent again until Scott puts some music on (‘We Go Together’ from the Grease Soundtrack). Stiles grins while Scott swings his upper body back and forth. Scott doesn’t know all the words but he tries to sing along anyway, and eventually Stiles chimes in and it’s fun (really _fun_ ) until it’s four fifteen and the song ends and they realize how tired they are. Almost synchronically they slouch back in their chairs.

“You should’ve auditioned on the X-Factor,” Stiles murmurs after a little bit. “With that song, I mean.”

Scott laughs. “Are you serious?” He raises his head from the chair back to look at Stiles’ face. “You’re serious! Why don’t _you_ audition for the freaking X-Factor?”

“Is that some passive aggressive remark about my current state of unemployment?” Stiles asks, raising his eyebrows. There’s humor in his eyes though. That’s how Scott knows that Stiles is his best friend. It’s because he can see stuff in Stiles’ _eyes_.

So Scott makes a indignant noise and says “I would never!”, to which Stiles waves his hand. “Leave your congeniality for someone else, McCall,” he says. A beat, and then he adds: “but not for Lahey. Don’t leave your niceness for Lahey.”

“You and Isaac should be friends,” Scott points out in vain. Isaac Lahey works in Scott’s animal clinic. Isaac hasn’t finished his Veterinary Medical Program yet, so technically Isaac is Scott’s intern of sorts. Anyway, Stiles is like a territorial lion when it comes to Scott’s friendship. A hyperactive, territorial lion with negligence issues.

Stiles scoffs. “I’m his neighbor, isn’t that enough? I can’t be friends with everyone, Scott. I reserve my love only for the very best. You ought to be more flattered. You’re my best friend _and_ my roommate.”

“I feel privileged,” Scott says, shaking his head smiling.

Stiles puffs out his chest and grins proudly, giving off a general aura of ‘that makes me happy’, which in turn makes Scott smile even more. They turn back to the monitor. It’s four twenty-seven, which means that something on the screen will most likely change in three minutes.

Scott thinks of Alease Meg Maura and how he and Stiles used to watch her show ‘City Under Clouds’ with Scott’s mom and Sheriff Stilinski, way back when they were kids. He and Stiles have been watching every single movie and every single TV show that Alease Meg Maura starred in ever since. And now here they are, living together in an apartment in a shabby neighborhood, waiting until the clock ticks four thirty AM for the live-stream to start.

Some people might call that weird, but let’s bear in mind that some people also hate reading or don’t brush their teeth in the morning.

“It’s a full moon,” Scott says suddenly, disturbing the short silence. His eyes are half-open and he feels like he’s in some sort of daze. “See that?”

“Yeah.”

Scott turns his head slowly and sluggishly, as if he’s afraid to disturb his own level of comfort by moving too fast. “It’s shining like a lamp. What if it’s a metaphor?”

Now he’s gotten Stiles’ attention, by the sounds of his cynical “oh my god”. It only makes Scott’s face split into an idle smile.

“I’m the sparkly moon and you’re the overwhelming darkness.” Scott explains, snorting to himself and appreciating his own sense of hilarity. “Can you see it? You’re the pessimist and I’m the optimist. It totally fits.”

“Jesus,” Stiles says, still in a mocking tone, but in a more pleased way. “You’re really not cut out for these late nights, are you? And just for the record, I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist.”

“That’s what all the pessimists say.” Scott rocks his chair from left to right, still grinning goofily. “And besides, you’re the computer-scientist. You live on the internet and we all know that the internet is pretty much the most negative place in the world. I bet that mosquitoes are friendlier than people online.”

“I’m plenty friendly,” Stiles argues, pointing his index finger at Scott. “Remember that day when I didn’t say anything to that idiot in the supermarket? I had a like a million sarcastic comments just sitting on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t say a word. If that doesn’t qualify as friendliness, I sure as shit don’t know what will.”

Scott scrunches up his eyes. “Not sure if that… qualifies, but… okay. I’m glad you didn’t snap at that person.”

Stiles smirks proudly. “Thank you. I’m glad, too.”

Nothing happens for a little bit and they both get fuzzy and comfortable again until Stiles suddenly jerks up and says: “did you hear that?”

Scott lazily turns his head to look at Stiles. “Hear what?”

Stiles’ eyes are wider now, his face is glowing enthusiastically. You can literally (well, not _literally_ ) see all kinds of exciting scenarios run through his head. “There’s something going on outside. I heard…” He doesn’t even bother finishing the sentence. Instead he gets up, taps Scott’s shoulder and hurries to the window. Scott contemplates getting up, but figures that somebody needs to guard the screen.

“What is it?” Scott calls over.  “Did your Spidey-senses get it right this time?” He chuckles softly at himself. Meanwhile, Stiles is opening the window and sticking his head out to get a better view of whatever is going on.

Scott wants to tell him he’s going to catch a cold if he keeps that up, but Stiles says: “oh my _god_ ,” which causes Scott to immediately get on his feet and walk to the window as well.

Both of them peer at the scene outside. At first, Scott doesn’t see anything of interest. It’s just their street at night. Then he notices a large van, surrounded by tons of boxes and a couple of people. That’s not even the special part. The special part is that the van belongs to a moving company; that those boxes are moving boxes.

“We’re getting a new resident,” Stiles concludes after a couple of seconds. “Wow. Just – _wow_.”

“Huh?” Scott’s pretty sure that this news shouldn’t baffle normal people, but then again, normal people don’t live in their apartment building. “Lydia is accepting someone new? That’s…”

“Weird? Bizarre? I know, cool, right!” Stiles is grinning widely. They both pull their heads away from the window. Stiles has this excited, frenzied blaze on his face, like it’s an early Christmas present. “We have to warn Erica and Isaac. Oh!” Stiles holds out his hands. “Lydia! We have to ask Lydia, she’ll give us all the answers. Let’s go, we can figure this out before Alease Meg Maura is on.”

A part of Scott wants to just wait for tomorrow like a regular person. He wants to sit down and watch the live-stream they’ve been waiting for all night and then go to bed. But he can’t let Stiles go up to Lydia’s, for one, so he says: “okay, you know what? I’ll go up to Lydia, you tell Erica and Isaac, and we’ll see where we go from there.”

Stiles looks like he wants to argue about this task distribution. Stiles and Lydia have kind of a love-thing going on minus the, you know, mutual love. Stiles thinks he’s in love with her, basically. It would’ve been harmless if Stiles hadn’t missed that class in which regular people learn about boundaries, but he’s been trying to catch Lydia attention ever since they’ve moved in here and Lydia has time and time again told him it’s not going to happen. Honestly, watching Lydia and Stiles interact is more painful than watching Tobey Maguire turn into a bad-boy in Spider-Man 3. Which means a hell of lot.

Anyway, Stiles doesn’t argue and they both literally run out of the apartment. Stiles goes downstairs to find Erica and Isaac (who are also roommates) and Scott takes two steps at a time on his way to Lydia’s apartment upstairs.

So that’s how it happens that he’s standing in front of Lydia’s enormous apartment at four thirty in the morning. Their apartment building consists out of four floors and a total of eight apartments. Lydia, however, converted the two apartments on the fourth floor into one  huge-ass, super-apartment. It’s where she lives. Scott knocks on her door, hoping to every force in the universe that she wasn’t sleeping.

Who is he kidding. Nobody but people with insomnia and people with internet addictions are up at this hour.

It takes Lydia a few minutes to answer the door. Her face looks sleepy and grumpy. “What is it, Scott?” she asks, stifling a yawn. “What is it that necessitated you waking me up at this hour?”

He has a feeling that she’s expecting him to blurt out a fantastic reason. Like maybe a fire or something. “Um,” Scott says. He tries to smile as innocently as possible, as if that’ll make her less annoyed at him. “Stiles and I were… looking out of the window. We noticed a moving van and we wondered if someone new was moving in?” He’s ninety percent sure that she thinks he and Stiles are a couple of weird stalkers who stare out of the window all night long. It’s such a waste, too. He and Lydia could get along just fine; it was just Stiles she didn’t like. Now he’ll most likely be added to that list.

Lydia is quiet for a few seconds. She sticks her hands in the pockets of her sweatpants. “You and Stilinski were looking out of the window in the middle of the night?” she asks. “Is that what you’re telling me? That you were looking out of the window and you happened to notice the van?” A pause and then: “ _in the middle of the night?_ ”

Scott bites his lip and smiles awkwardly. “… yes. You see, I—”

“Don’t even,” she interrupts him. “Just, don’t. Give me a minute.” She gives him one more annoyed look and then closes her front door. Scott assumes he’s supposed to wait until she appears again so he leans against the wall behind him. He pulls at his T-shirt and then notices that he’s not even wearing shoes. Stiles sucked him up in his enthusiasm and now he’s standing in front of Lydia Martin’s apartment wearing knee-length shorts and a pair of white socks. He wriggles his toes and for a while, his eyes fixated on his feet. Then, his eyes slide up to Lydia’s door. It has a little sign board with her name on it. She’s not only their landlord; she’s their authority figure, which is ridiculous because she’s probably the same age as them. It must have something to do with her being an accomplished lawyer with her own firm and probably also something about how she always knows what to do. It’s just the five of them, see. It has been just the five of them living in this building for a very long time. That one time that Isaac discovered the wasp nest: they all ran to Lydia and she fixed it. Or that time that two of Erica’s boyfriends turned out to be related and wanted to kill each other right there on the spot – Lydia fixed that too.

Scott wonders if Lydia ever gets tired of fixing things. He doubts it. She likes being in charge. And just like that, he’s wondering how dominant she’d be in bed.

He’s grateful that the Thought Police doesn’t exist.

When she re-appears, she’s no longer wearing her pajamas. And she has shoes on. “Let’s get this over with,” Lydia mutters. “I should’ve known better than to let a change happen here without first writing a book about it so that everyone is informed about everything. I assume you two already woke Erica and Isaac?” she asks, not bothering to stand still. She walks past him and thunders down the stairs. He follows.

“Yeah,” he says. “Or at least, Stiles went to wake them up…”

She shoots him a glare. “Of course he did,” she says.

When they reach the second floor, they find Erica, Stiles and Isaac bickering right in front of the open door of apartment 201. This is strange because nobody lives on the second floor. Erica and Isaac inhabit one apartment on the first floor; Scott and Stiles live in one apartment on the third floor, and Lydia has taken up the whole fourth floor. It must be where the new resident is moving in.

That, and there is a lot of chaos for four forty in the morning. That’s strange too.

Scott sees Erica jab her finger in Stiles’ chest. “You owe me,” Erica hisses. “I had to send what’s-his-face away, just because of you.”

“This is bigger than a hook-up,” Stiles explains. “This is about – okay, say that we’re a family. The new person is our baby, alright? But wait, no, the new one is like a fetus. We have to nurture it and grow it, until it gets born for real and starts growing up to be a successful, wonderful adult. That’s our job, people.”

Everyone looks at Stiles with mild repugnance. Even Scott can’t help but think that this is the worst metaphor ever to pop into anyone’s mind. “… okay,” Scott says, after a moment or two. “Let’s accept that that comparison was made and let’s move past it.”

“I wish I could,” Isaac says wryly. “A _fetus_ is moving in with us. There’s no moving past that.”

“Lydia?” Scott turns and looks at her. “Who’s the new person?”

“Yeah, who’s the fetus?” Isaac asks, now grinning subtly.

Lydia is looking at them with a mix of amusement and annoyance. “Her name is Allison. She works at the firm and she’s my best friend. She’s also a successful, wonderful adult already – trust me, she does not need any of your nurturing.” She puts a strand of hair behind her ears. “I honestly wish we could’ve done this tomorrow. The two of you look like you haven’t slept in days,” she adds, meaning Scott and Stiles. They both smile awkwardly. “And Isaac, try not to look like you’re itching to murder someone.”

“Why are you leaving me out?” Erica asks challengingly, now fixing her eyes on Lydia. “I’m here too, you know.” As if anyone could possibly look at them and not see Erica. She’s got fierceness written on her forehead. Metaphorically, that is. She doesn’t actually have ‘fierceness’ tattooed on her face.

“You look relatively decent.” Lydia shrugs simply. “Any more questions, then?”

The silence that follows leads Lydia to believe that there are no questions. So she takes a breath, looks like she wants to tell them to _please_ not ruin everything, seems to decide against that, and ends up marching past them to lead the group downstairs. Stiles and Isaac closely follow Lydia, right next to each other. Scott notices how Stiles semi-subtly sticks up his chest in order to copy Isaac’s physical build. 

“Your hair is a mess,” Erica comments abruptly, looking at Scott’s hair. “It’s sticking up all weird.” Scott raises his hands to his head and tries to sort of fix his hair by pressing it down. Erica sniggers. “No, no, no. Seriously, are you lost without a mirror?”

Scott laughs faintly and gives up on trying to look decent. That ship sailed the minute he decided to stay up all night, and besides, the new resident probably won’t give a damn about his hair to begin with.

Erica, however, does seem to care about his hair. She’s grinning deviously.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he protests. They’re almost outside – he holds the door open for Erica to pass through and then follows her.

“Like _what_?” she asks, and she has a way of looking innocent when she wants to. But she’s not, she’s not innocent. Not in the typical sense, at least. It’s not like she’s a criminal or something like that, it’s just that she’s their daredevil. She goes bungee-jumping every other month; she talks to strangers when they look interesting; she’s a serial dater; she doesn’t even stick to one kind of cereal, for god’s sake.

“Like you’re planning to cut my hair in my sleep,” Scott says. He’s trying not to shiver but it’s pretty chilly outside. If only he was sensible enough to put on some normal pants or a pair of shoes. Half of his attention of fixated on Erica; the other half is with the sight before them. The people with the moving company are just stepping back into their van and they’re starting the motor to drive off. The boxes are still cluttered all over the sidewalk and a girl in her twenties is standing right in the middle of the mess. He can’t really see her face – she’s looking in the direction of the van which is driving off into the sunset.

Scott hears Erica laugh. “I would never! I like your hair, just not when you look like this. Scott – you’re shivering. Here, do you want my scarf?”

He wants to be gallant and decline, but the fact of the matter is that he’s standing outside in his socks, a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. He could use something to add to that list. “Only if you won’t miss it,” he replies.

Erica is already taking off the ridiculously long, orange scarf. It’s made out of wool. He wants to ask if she made it herself, but he can’t visualize Erica knitting a scarf so he doesn’t bother asking. “Don’t be stupid,” she says. “I’ve got my jacket.” She inches a little closer and wraps the scarf around his neck. When she’s done, she steps back to enjoy the view. Scott grins, as if he’s being photographed.

“Orange is definitely your color,” Erica notes, smiling widely. “Right, Isaac?”

Isaac doesn’t reply though, because Isaac is shaking Allison’s hand and introducing himself. And all of a sudden, when that’s done, Allison stands in front of Scott and she holds out her hand. “Hi,” she says. She’s smiling in a friendly way. Her eyes quickly scan what he’s wearing and by the time that her eyes meet his, her smile is more real. “I’m Allison Argent. I’m moving into apartment 201, as you must’ve heard me say three times already.”

Scott copies her smile, except his is a little more sheepish. For a second there, he’s completely taken aback by her, but he quickly recovers. “My name’s Scott Mccall, apartment 302. Stiles over there is my roommate. And just for the record,” Scott leans in a little closer. “I don’t always look like… this.”

She laughs – quietly and sincerely, with dimples in her cheeks and everything. “That’s too bad,” she says, and he can’t help but arch an eyebrow in anticipation. “I kind of like… this.”

And that’s all it takes – Scott’s face splits into a full-on, goofy grin. Allison moves on to introduce herself to Erica, after which Lydia pulls Allison away to talk.

Allison’s very beautiful, that can’t be denied. She looks like the sort of person he could feel safe and comfortable with, which is stupid because he doesn’t even know her. She could very well be a serial killer and here he is, thinking about being comfortable with her.

“Scott,” Stiles hisses from somewhere behind him. Scott turns around to find Stiles halfway back into the apartment building. “We’ve got to go back. We probably missed most of Alease Meg Maura as it is already, and well, we can’t miss any more.”

“What about the boxes?” Scott asks, gesturing at all of the stuff on the sidewalk.

Stiles sighs. “Scott – there’s not only boxes. Look, that’s a couch, right there. If we’re going to help her get it all up, we’ll never be in time for Alease Meg M—” Stiles groans and steps out of the doorway, back outside. “We’re missing Alease Meg Maura, aren’t we? Why do you have to be so noble all the time?”

Scott laughs and pats Stiles on his shoulder. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“It’s written on your face. Remind me to thank the gods that you don’t have superpowers – you’d exhaust me, I’m sure. Saving people and being _nice_ and crap like that. Ugh.”

#

By the time that Stiles and Scott make their way back to their apartment, just the two of them, the sun is up and the sky is blue and it’s definitely morning. Moving Allison’s stuff into her apartment with everyone was simultaneously fun and exhausting. (By ‘everyone’, Scott doesn’t mean literally all six of them. He means all five of them. Stiles appointed himself the role of coordinator and proceeded to boss them around while they did the heavy lifting. For instance, he sat down on the couch while they tried to haul it upstairs).

“She said it might start raining dust,” Scott says, once they step inside their apartment. He’s grinning and he’s looking at Stiles as though he’s expecting him to grin too. “Because the ceiling needs a paintjob, you know? It was funnier when she said it. She’s _so_ funny, man. Did you notice how funny she is?”

Slowly, almost robotically, Stiles turns his head to look at Scott. Suspicion is carved on his face. “On a scale from zero to Stiles, how funny is she exactly?” he asks.

Scott beams at him. He wraps one arm around Stiles’ shoulders and half-hugs him, which makes Stiles that much more skeptical-looking, as if he’s worried about Scott in some way.

“Gee,” Stiles says dryly. “Allison’s _really_ funny, isn’t she? Even I can’t make your face do that thing you’re doing right now. It looks like you took a happy-drug.”

“She’s _really_ funny, Stiles.”

TO BE CONTINUED.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up after having slept one hour is not a fun experience. Scott can attest to that. His alarm clock, for one, manages to produce the single most annoying jingle in the history of jingles. Drowsily, Scott reaches for his side table. In one, fast movement he hits the snooze button. It’s quite startling how precise he can be in his efforts to silence the alarm clock. It’s kind of like hitting the mark with an arrow every morning.

Scott stretches himself out on his mattress. He kicks his covers off and doesn’t move for a few seconds. He’s trying to assess whether he has it in him to tackle the task of properly getting up. Just when Scott has decided that he’ll count to ten and then go take a shower, he hears someone breathing in the corner of his room. He’s petrified for a nanosecond before remembering that his roommate is Stiles and that living with Stiles has its occupational hazards. Without looking over, Scott says: “why aren’t you sleeping?” He sits up and glances over at his roommate.

“Glad to see you’re up,” a paler-than-usual Stiles grunts.

Some people like yoghurt in their cereal and some people watch you sleep like deranged sociopaths. Nothing to worry about.  Scott gives him a look. “Can’t say the same to you,” he says, his voice still hoarse. “Didn’t you sleep at all?” He hardly even moves but he can feel his muscles still being sore from dragging all the furniture up the stairs to Allison’s place.

“Nope.” Stiles stretches himself out and then sort of crumbles together again with a sigh. “I’ll go to sleep this evening and thusly repair my sleeping schedule.”

It _sounds_ like a good plan but it’s not really. You see – Stiles’ sleeping schedule is perpetually fucked up. It’s partly due to his unemployment and partly due to his tendency to stare at his computer screen until the sun comes up. And every once in a while, Stiles will get it in his head to ‘fix his sleeping schedule’ by _not_ sleeping. Which, again, may sound like a good plan, but it’s not, given that Stiles usually ends up falling asleep on the couch or on his desk anyway. Scott stifles a yawn and gets up from his bed. “How about you help out at the clinic today?” he asks. “You’ll stay awake and we might even get to go home early.”

“Do I get paid?” Stiles asks after a moment.

“Nope.”

Stiles grins. “Alright, I’m in.”

“Make sure you shower though,” Scott tells him lightly. “You’ll scare the sick, wounded animals with that stench.”

#

“You were right,” Allison says, as soon as she sees him. Scott, Stiles and Isaac are headed to Stiles’ jeep and they ran into Lydia and Allison. She’s smiling playfully.

“Doesn’t come as a surprise,” Scott replies, just managing to stifle a grin. “I’m usually right. What does this relate to, though?”

“You look nicer than yesterday, as you said you could,” Allison explains. “Though ‘nicer’ is relative, I suppose. I did like the orange scarf on you.”

Scott laughs. “The scarf was Erica’s so I can’t take credit for that, but I can take credit for the way it looked on me, so thank you!” Scott’s attention is fully focused on Allison, until he hears Lydia say: “Stilinski, when are you going to sell that metal piece of junk?”

This is kind of like a fun little morning-routine, except it’s not fun. Every single morning, Isaac and Scott go outside to drive to work in Stiles’ dinosaur of a jeep. And every single morning, they run into Lydia who is also headed to work. And _every single morning_ , Lydia asks Scott why that jeep is still around. “Though – who should I be talking to?” Lydia continues as the five of them cross the small road to get to their respective cars. “It’s your car, you say, but I’m pretty sure that Scott pays for it, so…”

Stiles rolls his eyes as he steps into the jeep. “So stay out of it, how about that?” Stiles suggests. “What do you care anyway?”

Scott smiles at Allison right before he, too, steps into the jeep. “Have a good day, both of you,” he says amiably.

“I care, because it pollutes the street image!” Lydia calls from her car.

 “You pollute my peace of mind,” Stiles mutters irritably as he steps into the jeep.

As per usual, the motor of the jeep doesn’t start immediately. Scott doesn’t mind that he and Stiles share a car or that said car happens to be a fossil. He just wishes that the fossil didn’t feel like a refrigerator every morning. “And you seriously think that there’s the tiniest chance that Lydia might like you?” Isaac asks, while Stiles curses under his breath and tries to start the motor by repeatedly ramming the key into the ignition and turning it violently.

Scott leans back against the back of his seat and he watches Isaac bend forward to get a response out of Stiles. Stiles is way too focused on getting this Jeeposaur to start moving though, so Isaac gives up on that and looks at Scott instead. “Speaking of people liking people,” he says surreptitiously. “Allison seems nice, wouldn’t you agree?”

It’s in the way that Isaac looks at him – it makes Scott feel like he’s in high school all over again and like his friends are accusing him of having a crush on someone. It’s that instant feeling of butterflies wrecking havoc in his stomach and feeling a little hot in the head. (Scott hopes that those feeling are related to Allison and not related to some sort of exotic disease because _man_ , that would be a bummer). “She seems nice, yeah,” Scott says, and he’s completely unable to stop his lips from curling into a smirk.

#

It’s a slow day at the clinic. They’ve had two families come in with their respective pets (a bird and a cat), but neither animal had anything major so it was taken care of relatively quickly. They’ve retreated into their semi-canteen. Isaac and Scott are taking care of paper work while Stiles tells them about literally every single thing that occurs to him.

“You ought to be sitting behind the desk for when clients come in,” Isaac says impatiently. “That’s why you’re here, right? To help out? Go help out.”

“Nobody’s there, what am I supposed to do?” Stiles wanders to the small fridge and gets a banana out of it. “Anyway, we’ll hear the bell ring when someone opens the door, so it’s all good. And Dr. McCall? Not to sound creepy or anything, but I wish you would wear those glasses and that white coat around the house as well.”

Scott snorts. “Do you have some doctor-fetish I’m not aware of, Stiles?”

“Ha-ha.” Stiles continues drifting back and forth, until he reaches the window. The sudden, wonderful silence indicates that something must’ve caught Stiles’ attention. Scott re-focuses on the paperwork in front of him – they don’t have an accountant, you see, so they have to do all of the financial things themselves. Scott initially thought that this would be a revolutionarily fantastic idea: he would still be involved in _everything_ concerning his clinic, it would save money, and it would force him to keep his mathematic skills fresh. Problem is: Scott never had that many mathematic skills to keep fresh in the first place. The only thing his mathematic skills are currently doing is run around in his head, screaming for a peaceful death.

Isaac seems to be doing worse, though. He’s not finished with his degree yet, which often causes him put pressure on himself. Isaac only does good when he’s concentrated. Which is the downside of Bring Your Stiles To Work-day, because with Stiles around, silence is… well, not around.

Scott lifts his head up. He looks to the side where Stiles is presently standing, gaping out of the window like a zoo-animal. He has his fingers in between two blinds so that he can have a better look at whatever he’s staring at. In a very Bruce Banner-y fashion, Scott removes his glasses from his face. “Hey, what’s up?” he asks.

“Um…” Stiles doesn’t tear his eyes away from the window. “Not to scare the shit out of you or anything like that, but there’s a man standing in the parking lot. He’s looking straight at this building, I think. Or is that your creepy guardian angel, dressed in a leather jacket?”

Isaac looks up, too. “What?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and jerks his head around to glare at Isaac. “I said: there’s a creepy guardian angel, dressed in a leather jacket, standing out in the parking lot, staring at this precious place, _Lahey_. Are you deaf? Jesus.”

Scott squints his eyes and looks at Isaac. “Did we hire a leathery, creepy guardian angel?”

“Not that I can recall,” Isaac replies promptly.

Stiles heaves a deep sigh, which sort of takes Stiles’ chest with it. Scott always thinks that’s funny – how Stiles’ entire body seems to go with Stiles’ mood. He’s like a puppet on a string, with the way he moves. “Think this is a joke?” Stiles mutters darkly. “My dad’s a Sheriff, you know. He used to warn me and Scott all the time about creepy, leathery demons.”

“I’ll bet it’s just a homeless guy,” Isaac says airily. “Calm down.”

“A homeless demon, then, whatever, still not something you want standing in your parking lot.”

Scott can’t help but bark out a laugh. “That went quickly! He was a guardian angel just two  minutes ago. He’s a homeless demon now?”

“Alright, Dr. Know It All, why don’t you come and see for yourself?” Stiles beckons him over. “Come on, move it.”

Scott shrugs at a still smiling Isaac and gets up. He puts his pencil in the pocket of his lab coat and takes a couple of steps until he’s standing very close to Stiles. Scott separates two blinds with his fingers, just as Stiles did minutes ago. He feels a little surge of nervousness go through him, as if he’s expecting to see two, black eyes staring right at him. Instead, all he sees is the empty parking lot. It’s oddly disappointing, which is weird, since it’s not like he _wants_ to get kidnapped and murdered or anything. It’s just an anti-climax, is all. “There’s nothing there,” Scott points out in a rather self-righteous voice.

“What?” Stiles takes a look, too. “No, wait, he was there, I swear.”

Scott’s just about to make a witty joke about having had to get up and walk three steps for nothing, when the bell rings, indicating that somebody has entered the clinic. Scott feels everyone freeze. Slowly, Scott’s eyes move to meet Stiles’. For a few seconds, that’s all they do. Stare at one another and listen to their own heartbeats thundering against their chests.

“Holy mother of God,” Stiles mouths in a voice that’s so low that it wouldn’t audible if it hadn’t been for the piercing silence.

Scott is the first one who starts moving. “We’ll be right there!” he calls loudly. He then redirects his attention to Isaac and Stiles. “It’s probably nothing. And if it is, please don’t kill each other in your hurry to get out of here.”

He has to keep reminding himself that there’s nothing but a person in the waiting room – certainly not a homeless demon, whatever that may be. And anyway, aren’t all demons essentially homeless? It’s not like they have cozy homes with beds and computers and all, do they? Scott turns around and marches to the hall separating the canteen and the waiting room, trying desperately not to think of demons (whether they have invested in houses or not). It’s a small comfort knowing that he’s the one to go meet this demon and not Stiles or Isaac – at least they’re safe. This thought is immediately followed by an internal facepalm, given that _demons don’t exist_.

Then again, they also don’t not exist. That’s just science right there. Science is scary sometimes.

So Scott enters the waiting room, expecting to find something weird and inhuman, but instead, all he finds is… nothing. Without saying a word, he whirls around in an attempt to maybe uncover someone standing in some corner, or behind the desk, but… No. There’s nobody there. Confusion is etched on Scott’s face – he definitely heard the bell ring earlier, so someone has to be somewhere. This is starting to feel like the beginning of a bad horror movie; or like the beginning of a bad horror TV show, if he’s lucky.  Scott frowns after concluding that there’s no one in the waiting room. He figures that he ought to check the three examining rooms, and if those are empty too, then the bell must’ve rung for some other reason. “Hello?” He walks to the first examining room, flicks the lights on, and lets his eyes slide over the equipment. He instantly deduces that this one’s empty.

The second examining room is the biggest and it has the most expensive utensils, too. If the President’s pet would be sick, this is the examining room Scott would treat it in. He puts the lights on and walks in. When he’s about three steps in, he says: “Hello?” (His voice sounds totally at ease, which surprises him, given the fact that he’s half expecting some monster to creep out from under the table). He’s not expecting a reply, though. Go figure: he’s expecting a monster, but not a reply. So when he hears a deep voice that says: “hello, are you the vet?” Scott can’t help but jump a little. He whirls around to find a dark, brooding-looking man standing in the corner, holding a grey Affenpinscher dog in his arms.

Scott takes one of the deepest breaths he’s ever taken. “Wow. You scared me. You should’ve waited in the waiting room, that’s what it’s for. And yeah, I’m the veterinarian.”

The man doesn’t really reply to that. He approaches Scott, and for a minute, Scott thinks that he’s about to hand the dog over to him, but instead the man walks past him to gently put the dog on the table. Scott decides to go with it. “I’m Dr. McCall,” he says, looking at the man while he’s talking. He doesn’t look a demon. He looks kind of ominous and creepy, sure, but not homeless or monsterly.

“My name is Derek Hale,” he says. “This is Alpha. I think she might have ingested chocolate.”

Scott nods. He looks at Alpha – she’s a cute thing, hairy and cheerful-looking. Not a dog you’d link to a man like Derek Hale. He seems to be the kind of person who would have a German Shepherd or something. Scott softly runs his hand along Alpha’s back and she lets him. It’s not a surprise; Scott tends to do well with animals. His mother likes to tell him that they can sense his integrity, but he’s actually pretty sure that it’s just a confidence thing. Animals can sense fear; so naturally, they would feel at ease with someone who is not afraid of them.

“How much chocolate did she swallow, Mr. Hale?” Scott asks, redirecting his attention on the man in front of him.

“I’m not sure, I got home yesterday and I found chocolate wrappers all around the floor, leading to the couch where Alpha was sitting,” he responds stiffly. “And you can call me Derek.”

“Okay, Derek,” Scott says, smiling gently. He’s smiling because that’s the professional thing to do. To be quite frank, Scott is not all that thrilled with Derek. Who creeps into an animal clinic, walks into an examining room and doesn’t say anything? “You say this was yesterday? Has Alpha showed any of the symptoms that come with chocolate poisoning?”

“What exactly are the symptoms?” Derek asks. He’s constantly glaring at Scott, as if he’s trying to keep him in check or something, like he’s afraid that Scott might suddenly grab a needle and kill his dog. It’s all Scott can do not to roll his eyes.

Scott hears footsteps behind him and then a familiar, sarcastic voice saying: “don’t you know how to use Google?”

Scott turns around to find Stiles standing in the doorway, closely followed by Isaac. “Derek, these are my colleagues, Isaac Lahey and Stiles Stilinski.” He then directs himself to Isaac and Stiles: “we might have a case of chocolate poisoning.” Turning back to Derek, Scott smiles again. “The symptoms for chocolate poisoning might vary from vomiting to diarrhea, after which the dog will usually be restless and hyperactive.”

Derek takes his sweet time pondering this. “No,” he says eventually. “None of that has happened. Does this mean she’s safe?”

Scott runs his hand across Alpha’s fur again. “Most likely,” he says, nodding.  “If she shows any of those symptoms later on, you can always come to us, but I’m pretty sure she’s in the safe.”

“Would you mind giving me your private number?” Derek insists. He’s leaning in a little over the table and Scott’s not entirely sure if Derek’s trying to intimidate him or trying to charm him. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Scott has given his private number to clients before. They only use it if necessary anyway, and Scott values the lives of the animals. (That’s why he’s, you know, a veterinarian).

Scott can hear Stiles clack his tongue behind him, but he doesn’t pay it any attention. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll gladly give you my card – it has my number on it. Feel free to call if Alpha should be in trouble.”

Derek looks slightly more relaxed. His shoulders are lowered slightly and the tiniest smile has formed on his lips. Or – no, nope, it’s not a smile. Just a crooked lip-thing. Scott slips one of his cards out of his back pocket and gives it to Derek who shortly appraises it and puts it away. “Any questions?” Scott asks.

“I have a question,” Stiles blurts out from behind Scott. “How did the chocolate get trailed all across your house to wherever Alpha was sitting?” The worst thing about that question is the thick layer of disbelief in Stiles’ voice – it’s obvious he doesn’t believe Derek’s story.

Derek doesn’t immediately reply and Scott is just about to tell him that he doesn’t have to reply at all, but then Derek says: “I live with my uncle who likes… playing pranks. Not that it’s any of your business. Why don’t you have a lab coat on? Does he even work here?” The last question is directed at Scott.

“He’s – he helps out around the clinic, yeah,” Scott says. Anxious to derail the conversation from Stiles and his impulses, Scott proceeds to ask: “do you have more pets?”

Judging by Derek’s expression though, that question was not the right one. His face falls. Which is a freaking miracle, given that his face was already looking like he was attending his own funeral. “I had a cat,” he says, only looking at Scott.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Scott says, assuming the cat died.

“He ran away,” Derek clarifies.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Scott repeats.

“His name was Beta,” Derek says. Scott feels the need to, again, express how sorry he is that Derek’s cat made a run for it, but he doesn’t. Saying you’re sorry three times in a row makes it sound like you fucking killed the animal yourself.

“Well, it looks like Alpha here is healthy and ready to go home,” Scott ends up saying. He retreats his hand from Alpha’s back. Derek picks the furry dog up and nods sternly. Scott sends Derek to the waiting room so that Isaac can ask him some more basic questions, which leaves Stiles and Scott to go back to the canteen.

“You shouldn’t talk to clients like that,” Scott says, looking at Stiles. “You know that, right?”

“I’m sorry, man, but that guy gives me the creeps. I say his cat made a good call. I would’ve bailed, too. And that story about his uncle? Bullshit.” Stiles settles down on one of the chairs in the canteen. “Admit it, he does look a little like a creepy demon. And what’s with the names he gives his pets?”

Scott shrugs. He feels weirdly tired all of a sudden. That’s what happens when you sneak around your own clinic, imagining that you may run into a homeless monster. “Maybe he’s into the Greek alphabet, who knows.”

Stiles chuckles. “Perhaps he has a rat named Gamma, a snake named Delta, a turtle named Epsilon…”

#

“By the way,” Stiles says on their way back home. “What were you thinking, giving your personal information to a lunatic who probably told you a lie about his stupid dog eating chocolate?”

Scott yawns. “Why would he lie about thinking that his dog was poisoned? How on Earth would that benefit him?”

“I don’t know man, some people are fucking weird.”

A chuckle escapes from Scott’s mouth. “Look who’s talking! Didn’t you camp out next to my bed while I slept this night?”

Stiles looks from Scott to the road and back. “I did that because I didn’t want you to oversleep, dumbass.” He throws in a goofy-looking smirk. “I care about you! Nothing weird about that.”

Isaac then lifts his head from the window to say: “nope, it’s weird. And can’t you speed this ancient jeep up a little? I can’t decide which is worse, the hunger or the exhaustion, so I need to get home in order to find a way to simultaneously eat and sleep.”

They spend the entire way home brainstorming on how to do exactly that. (Here’s what they come up with:

-          One could hook a food-IV to one’s arm and go to sleep.

-          One could mash one’s food up, put a straw in said mashed food and then put the straw in one’s mouth. One would have to get skilled in the art of sipping and swallowing whilst asleep.

-          One could get another person to feed them whilst asleep, though it should be noted that one might die in this process.

-          One could make oneself have a lucid dream and then eat as much as one wants in said dream.

-          Or one could be sensible and have dinner before going to sleep. There’s that option, too.)


End file.
